


a new language

by Splashattack



Series: Wilde Week 2020 [3]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: A Wilde Week 2020 (Rusty Quill Gaming), Gen, Paranoia, Presents, no beta we die like meerk probably will next week because alex is a monster, the sharing of romance novels as a declaration of friendship, wilde sees a gift and goes "hmm is this a threat"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27739390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splashattack/pseuds/Splashattack
Summary: No, seeing through masks isn’t the problem. It’s when people don’t wear one that he struggles.written for day three of wilde week.wilde doesn't trust people and it makes me sad
Relationships: The London and Other London Outstanding Mercenary Group | LOLOMG & Oscar Wilde
Series: Wilde Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029099
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13
Collections: A Wilde Week 2020





	a new language

**Author's Note:**

> day three: ~~feast~~ / ~~hunger~~ /treats
> 
> cw for paranoia

Living as many places as Wilde had, one picks up a broad collection of languages. Germanic, Bantu, Aryan, Sinitic, Romance, Tai, Japonic‒more languages contained within them than he can count. He learns them quickly, almost instinctively.

What’s harder is the languages with more abstract meanings. Wilde can understand the language of deception just fine‒navigating a web of lies is practically his job, and he’s adept at weaving his own knot of half-truths and falsities, of saying too much and not enough. No, seeing through masks isn’t the problem. It’s when people don’t wear one that he struggles.

It’s when Sasha presents him with a dagger in Prague, the handle so elaborately carved that she couldn’t have bought it with herself in mind, that he struggles. It’s when Azu pats him on the shoulder and relieves his fatigue without a word, and when Hamid knocks on his cabin door just to check in. It’s Grizzop shaving his head to check for parasites, and Barnes leaving an extra candle on his desk every night. It’s the way Carter seeks him out whenever he opens a particularly expensive bottle, and how Zolf sneaks an extra scoop of sugar into his oatmeal in the mornings. He’d never truly believed that these languages mattered more than the ones he spoke until he’d begun to experience it himself.

Azu knocked on his office door one day when he was busy pouring over paperwork from the latest mission, bringing with her a gust of hot air and undoubtedly sand from the hallway. He looked up, rubbing at dry eyes, stifling a groan.

“Azu. What is it I can help you with?”

Azu ducked to step into the office and cast an eye about it, her forehead wrinkled with something that Wilde might have recognized as concern had he been a bit more present. As it was, the only thing preventing him from falling asleep on the spot was the crushing fear that plagued him every time he allowed himself to.l

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Her words echoed through his fuzzy head, spinning, twisting, until they’d lost much of their original meaning. Had that been concern in her voice, or accusation? He offered a dry smile to mask his consideration and gestured at the stacked papers and folders on the desk.

“I’ve yet to catch them in the act, but I believe they multiply when I’m not paying attention,” Wilde responded, and his voice only _just_ fell short of teasing. 

Azu pursed her lips, taking a breath and obviously‒ _painfully_ obviously‒resisting the urge to comment. Instead, she stepped further into the room, her usually resounding footsteps muffled on the plush carpet, and set a worn book on the desk. He squinted at it until the letters embossed on the spine arranged themselves into something legible. It was a Harrison Campbell novel, and Wilde felt his blood run cold. No one knew that he read them‒or had, when he could focus on the letters. He’d taken so many precautions to preserve his lofty image; was this some sort of threat?

“What is it?” Wilde kept his voice carefully neutral, politely curious. It’s something he had so much experience with that he didn’t consciously make the decision to. Azu was clearly surprised by the question.

“It’s a book. I’ve read it, and I enjoyed it, and I thought‒well, you’re into… books, right? I thought you might like to read it.”

Wilde nodded slowly, willing his pounding heart to calm as he reached out to pick up the book. He’d already read it‒had his own copy hidden in his desk, actually‒but Azu didn’t need to know that.

“Thank you, Azu,” he responded, flipping the novel over in his hands and examining it as if he’d never seen it.

This wasn’t blackmail; this wasn’t a threat. It was paranoia and a gift; it was a statement he couldn’t understand in a language he didn’t speak. Hopefully he could learn this one, too.


End file.
